


false queen

by colloquialrhapsodist



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:43:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colloquialrhapsodist/pseuds/colloquialrhapsodist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ovelia ruminates on her new crown. Olan suspects Delita. Written in 2013; terminology based off of the original translation of Final Fantasy Tactics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	false queen

Sunlight filtered in through the glass panes of Ovelia’s study; outside, the bluest of skies could be seen, unmarked by clouds. It was beautiful and bright and welcoming – the color of winter melting into spring, signaling the beginning of a more peaceful time. A book was open on her desk, but her eyes were not on it – only on the inviting heavens beyond. Perhaps the peace would only be visible in the weather, for the Queen’s heart was fraught with storm clouds unbefitting of the lovely sky beyond.   
  
Upon her arrival in Zeltennia all that time ago, she’d had but one humble request for her choice of boarding – she’d wanted windows, so at least she could see the sky. She hated being cooped up inside these stone walls, but there was no other place for her, so please, would they spare her a bit of freedom? Delita had been eager to acquiesce to her request and, as he had Goltana’s favor, it wasn’t difficult for him to procure the perfect chamber – a little room with a modest bed and a desk, tucked out of the way of the poisonous political affairs, complete with the glimpse at the sky she so desired. At first, she’d been thankful that she was far away from the dark depths of Zeltennia, where Goltana consulted with his council about how to best seize power… but then she wondered if she had been given this room purposely, with the idea that she would remain ignorant and deaf to the immoral affairs that were spoken of and, in some cases, carried out. It would hardly be surprising if that were to be the case. After all, Goltana never intended her to rule – that would be the job for him, as her regent. There was no need to fuss her pretty little head, was there? She’d been kept busy with books on history and customs and religion and politics that she’d hardly had time to think about much else. Goltana had gotten his wish, if that be the case.   
  
Well, she was a monarch now –  _the_  monarch, since Ruvelia had been imprisoned some time ago.  _A false queen, blind to the court and deaf to the corruption…_  She stared at the sky, not really seeing it. Surely she was not the true ruler for this kingdom. Though a tentative peace had been struck, the only consequence of her rule could be assumed ruination.   
  
“I have only ever wanted what was best for Ivalice,” the new queen whispered, collapsing her face into her hands, torn apart with confusion and uncertainty. “All of my efforts, all of my suffering in solitude… was it all for naught…?”   
  
This was not the first time it had crossed her mind, nor would it be the last. True, when Delita had started taking an active role in being her confidante and comforter, she’d stopped dwelling on such things – but now that her trust with him was thinning, they came back in full force, eating up the back of her mind with self-doubt and disquiet. A fearful queen would not do for Ivalice, either, but try as she might, she could not banish the anxiety that plagued her constantly. Delita was no longer a comfort as she’d learned of his plans to assassinate the High Priest, and she wondered – privately, horrifyingly – if he’d assassinated Goltana as well. He had much to gain from such an act, as the only person above him was the Queen herself…   
  
Her nails dug into the skin of her face as the thought occurred to her. Bile rose up in her throat, and she wondered if she was going to vomit, or cry, or both – but then there was a soft knock at the door.   
  
Ovelia sat upright, folding her hands pristinely on her lap, her doubts smoothed away under the regal façade of the Queen. “Come in,” she said in raised tones, her voice loud with a confidence she did not possess. The door creaked open, and a familiar face stepped in, immediately moving to a kneeling position upon gracing the Queen’s presence. Ovelia stood, her face flushing with recognition of one of the few people in the court that she trusted.   
  
“Olan,” she welcomed, her voice warm, but not entirely without the distress she was experiencing – distress that only became more apparent as she registered his battered and bruised state. A tiny frown creased between her brows as he stood, wincing a bit, with a brief utterance of “your Majesty.” “Are you all right? What has happened?”   
  
“I’ve been better.” To his credit, Olan managed a bit of good humor, though his whole demeanor was rather dour. He shut the door behind him, and sighed heavily before answering his Queen. “Merely recovering from my injuries from the Battle of Bethla Garrison. No cause for alarm, Your Highness.”   
  
“You  _are_  recovering, then?” While it was true he had been injured that day, some of his cuts looked a bit fresh; Ovelia regarded them doubtfully, but did not pursue the matter.   
  
Olan gave a swift nod – he also seemed keen to drop the topic. Instead, he quickly moved onto a different matter entirely, the reason for his visit: “Ovelia, if I may, I’ve come to… warn you.”   
  
Her hands found the fabric of her stiff dress, and she clutched at it, her face whitening. She took a step towards him, her frown deepening with concern. “Warn me…? What bodes ill, Olan?”   
  
A dark look crossed his face, and he glanced off to the side, not meeting her worried gaze. A thousand possibilities crossed her mind – an assassin was in the castle, the Hokuten had somehow the energy to attempt to strike back – but one name lurked in the back of her mind, try as she might to not acknowledge it.   
  
“It’s… well. It’s Delita.”   
  
“Delita?” She tried to act more surprised, she really did – but it was what she was fearing all along. Yet she knew all too well the act would not slip by Olan; he was harboring the same fears she was. “What of him?”   
  
“If I may be so bold, Your Majesty.” He answered immediately, no beating around the bush – as Olan was prone to do. His brusque tone indicated this was an unpleasant manner that he wished to be out with quickly. “I believe Delita intends to propose to you.”   
  
There was a slight change in Ovelia’s expression – her eyes widened fractionally, breaking the previously polite regal mask that had only allowed itself to become marred with worry because Olan was more a friend than a servant, and all color drained out. Olan was still deliberately avoiding her expression; was he afraid of seeing her doubt and suspicions? Or was he more afraid that she would express positivity at such a notion?   
  
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen this coming; after all, had she not been musing moments before on the fact that she was the only person that was still of superior rank to Delita? There was an easy way for him to amend that, and she would have been a childish fool to not think of the possibilities. But she hadn’t wanted to believe he would be capable of that, because that would call into question every single kind word he’d ever uttered to her… was it all for this final, ultimate goal, to become King of Ivalice?   
  
 _He would make a fine king_ , she thought with no small amount of dryness.  _Courts are fraught with people of his kind…_    
  
“That is too bold,” she murmured, and Olan finally met her eyes.   
  
“I am sorry,” he said humbly, backing away with a polite bow of his head. “I’ll take my leave now.”   
  
Ovelia shook her head; she knew that Olan was only looking out for her, and he’d done what he thought was best, even if it only fed into her doubt and despair. (Most things did, these days, as her veil of ignorance eroded away.) “No, thank you,” she said, her voice still quiet, and he paused. “It is kind of you to alert me ahead of time, Olan.”   
  
It was tantamount to admittance of her suspicions of Delita, and for Olan to know that his caution had not fallen on deaf ears. They shared a short, meaningful look, well aware that they might be the only two people at Zeltennia who could be so open about their worries, and that if this conversation were to extend any longer, they could run the risk of being overheard – and then Olan backed out of the room.   
  
“Take care, m’lady.”   
  
“You as well.”   
  
The door snapped shut behind him.   
  
Ovelia turned to face the window again, her hands grabbing fistfuls of the fabric of her dress. Her thoughts were worse off than before – through no fault of Olan’s, of course; he was only doing what he thought necessary for the safety of the Queen. Her conviction in the belief that she was not fit to rule Ivalice was strengthened as confusion grew; what would she say if Delita did as Olan had foreseen? Would she accept because, after all, she  _loved_  him, and he was nothing if not a good politician? Would she decline and continue to be a shaky, easily swayed monarch of Ivalice, and crush the stories flitting around that placed Delita as a noble peasant hero that had defeated the villains and won the heart of the princess? No, that was hardly an option at all… and she expected he would not take “no” for an answer.   
  
She stood in a patch of sunlight that streamed through the windows and reflected, briefly, on all that time spent in monasteries – no freedom, no sun, but plenty of books to read about things that didn’t involve current political turmoil. She felt just as lost, just as trapped, and just as alone.   
  
Being queen had not given her autonomy. If anything, the title had taken the last of her freedom away.   
  
 _Oh, God…_    
  
She was interrupted, once again, by a soft rap on the door – and an all too familiar one at that, one that had always seemed to find her when she was in distress. For the second time in only a few minutes, Ovelia’s voice raised: “Come in.”   
  
She did not look back at him, even as the door clicked shut and everything else went silent for the briefest of moments. It was only when she felt a soft hand upon her shoulder and a murmur of “Ovelia…” did she turn to face him.   
  
Delita’s eyes were dark and unfathomable, as usual, and his full attention was upon her face – he’d always had a way of making her feel listened to when nobody else would bother to hear the petty personal qualms of the princess. His hand dropped to hers, and he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss on the back of it, and a soft blush dusted her cheeks; had anyone been viewing them, they would seem like the perfect image of a young couple in love.   
  
But Delita’s emergence into her chambers so soon after Olan had left them made her fret that he might have been eavesdropping; had he come in so soon so she wouldn’t have time fully process Olan’s warning…?   
  
“Ovelia, you look pale.” His fingers let her hand slide back down to her side – his other hand still mysteriously behind his back – and he stroked her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. “Are you all right?” His dark, dark eyes tightened slightly as some ill thought occurred to him – a thought she was not privy to.   
  
She stepped back from him, wrapping her arms around her torso. His own hand fell away from her face, and he watched her, his expression giving away nothing.  _Has he always been this secretive around me?_  “I’m fine. A lack of sleep, perhaps.” The finality in her tone indicated the topic was closed. “What brings you here?”   
  
He did not press the matter, but rather brought out his hand from behind his back; enclosed in his fist was a lovely bouquet of the most vibrant flowers from the gardens of Zeltennia Castle. Ovelia immediately loved it.   
  
“I brought you flowers,” he said quietly.


End file.
